Close
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: To be so close and still so far away. A season 10 ficlet.
1. Chapter 1

I bite my thumbnail, panicked. I can't believe I screwed this up.

I think I just managed to lose our baby.

We were _so_ close. The papers were right in front of me; all I had to do was sign.

Instead, I let Chandler convince me that this girl needs to know the truth. I don't know why it matters—she's giving a baby away. She's a pregnant teenager, and once this is all over, she'll go back to being a normal teenage girl and it won't really matter to her _who_ has the baby so long as she's not the one who has to take care of it.

That's _my_ baby she's carrying. It's mine. I can feel it. Maybe I don't get to carry it, but that is _my child_ slipping away from me. My heart breaks just thinking about it.

I want to blame Chandler for this; I didn't know he would have such moral objections to letting this girl believe that we're a doctor and a reverend instead of a junior copywriter and chef. I thought he just wanted a baby.

In fact, it would be really easy to blame someone else for this, and why not my husband? His stupid honesty is what's going to keep me from my baby.

It's not like I can blame him for our fertility troubles, since that's something that managed to afflict both of us.

Not that I would actually blame him for that, anyway. I know the struggle of adoption isn't his first choice, either. If we could, we would do this the old-fashioned way, and maybe we'd have a couple of babies now.

I sigh and start pacing, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

But…it's not his fault. How can I even really consider faulting him for this when all he wants to do is bring our baby into the world honestly? And what kind of mother could I possibly be if _this _is what I'm willing to do to get a child?

A desperate one. That's what I am—desperate. I want a baby so badly it hurts. It's not at all fair that my husband and I, who love each other so much and want this so badly, can't have one together and this girl is willing to just _give_ it away. Where's the justice in that? How does it make any sort of sense? I know there's a lot of injustice in the world, most of it much more severe than not being able to have a baby, but right now…it doesn't feel like it.

How is we're being denied something so basic, and this girl can just…give away a baby? How does that work?

I put my hands in my face for a moment, willing myself not to cry.

_I want this so much_. Chandler and I have been trying to have a baby, to get a baby, for so long. And it's right here. It's right here. I can literally reach out and touch it. At least, I can touch Erica's belly.

My heart clenches, aching painfully, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. I sit down on the edge of the couch and worry my thumb some more.

My baby is so close, and so far.

God, I can't believe I screwed this up.

And now Chandler's out there, talking to her, or the agency, or whoever he can find, and everything is riding on this.

He's good with words, when he wants to be. Most of the time, he'd rather joke around and make people laugh, but he can be incredibly eloquent when the occasion calls for it. Every time I think about what he said when he proposed to me, I get chills. All the soft words and quiet declarations over the years…he knows what to say and how to say it.

I just have to hope it's enough.

I have to hope that whatever words he finds can convince Erica that we're not horrible people; or, at the very least, that _I'm_ not a horrible person. After all, I was the one who did the bulk of the talking and lying earlier; Chandler mostly stared at me in shock.

I don't think I realized just how desperate I was until that moment, though.

But I know he wants that baby, too. I saw the way he looked at the sonogram picture. I saw the look in his eyes, and the way he fell instantly in love with this tiny little being.

He knows.

He knows that's our baby.

Maybe that's why telling Erica the truth was so important to him; maybe he doesn't ever want our baby to find out that we lied to get him…or her.

I think this was the part of an open adoption that worried me the most—the face to face part. With a closed adoption, there are no names or faces; just a call that your baby has been born and it's time to take it home. If this were a closed adoption, even if she read the wrong file, as long as all the paperwork had the right information on it, how would we ever know? Who would have been hurt? A baby in need would have a home, and two people who have so much love to give…would finally be a family.

Chandler and I will love this baby so much. Two people who love each other as much as we do have love to spare. We have enough for three or four kids _at least_.

We deserve a baby. We deserve _this_ baby.

I sigh again, my foot tapping as I wait, anxious. On edge.

I want to give Chandler a baby. I don't know if he believes it, but he's going to be such a good father. He has so much to offer a child. I know he'll figure out how to be strict and a disciplinarian, but, maybe more importantly, he's going to be _fun_. Kids need that. He'll be like Mary Poppins and turn chores into a game and he'll play with our kid and make it laugh, and he'll be so good at kissing boo-boos and drying tears. He has it all of it in him, and he deserves to have a baby.

He deserves a woman who can give him that.

That part may be the most heartbreaking. Not just that I've wanted kids for so long, but how much I want them with Chandler, and how I'll probably never be able to give that to him.

I know this wasn't what he signed up for when he married me. It should be enough that he puts up with all of my "idiosyncrasies" every day. He has the willpower to stay with me no matter how crazy I get about the little things in life. He shouldn't have to deal with this, too.

Not once has he placed any of the blame on me for this. He's been nothing but wonderful and supportive and amazing this whole time. But that doesn't stop me from blaming myself.

It may not make much sense, but, yeah…I blame myself. I went through a lot of anger and self-loathing for a while. Chandler was angry, too, but he just tried to reassure me that these things happen, and that there were always kids who need homes.

That may be true, but it hasn't made this whole process any easier.

And now I may have ruined everything, and we're going to have to wait even longer. Worst of all…someone else will get our baby.

My heart shatters into a million pieces with that thought, and I feel like I'm going to fall over.

Why was I so stupid? Why didn't I just let Chandler correct her from the beginning? Did I really think I could get away with this?

I hear the door creak open behind me and I look, turning around to see my husband walking through the door, his face expressionless. He puts his hands in his pockets and just looks at me.

"You still want that baby?"

A million different things run through mind at once, and all I can do is run to him, throwing myself in his arms as he does a tiny victory dance. He did it! I don't know what he did or how he did it, but…he did it.

I'm sure I'll cry later, but for now…I'm just so happy.

We're getting a baby.

We're going to be parents.

Soon, someone's going to call us "Mommy" and "Daddy."

Oh, my God.

I love this man so much.

And our baby! I love our baby.

We're going to be the best family in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

My heart thunders in my ears. I just watched my son come into the world. It was completely gross and disgusting.

And so beautiful.

He's so tiny and so perfect. Neither of us have had a chance to hold him yet, but I'm sure Monica's arms are aching for him. I know mine are.

Of course, immediately after he came into the world, we found out that he's actually one of a set. I have no idea how this girl didn't know she was having twins. I wouldn't think it'd be possible for her not to have picked up on _something_ one of the doctors told her, but we've all been blindsided by a second baby.

I don't think I'm capable of processing this yet other than I know that Monica's right—these are _our_ kids. They're coming home with us. It doesn't matter if we're ready for two of them; two of them is what we're going to get.

Erica's face turns red as she pushes again and the doctor says that my daughter—_my daughter_. I'm getting a little girl!—is crowning. Without prompting from my wife, I immediately move back to Erica's feet to watch it happen again. All she is right now is the top of a head, but tears prickle the corners of my eyes anyway. She's a tie for the most beautiful top-of-a-head ever. My heart pounds faster.

Oh, my God, this is happening.

The doctor's voice is muffled as he talks to Erica, and I'm aware of her straining to push out my daughter, but all I can see is this tiny little person making her way into the big, scary world.

My daughter. Jesus…

How am I going to protect her?

How am I going to make sure no one ever hurts her?

Her little face pops out and my heart stops completely. A split second later the rest of her body follows and the doctor holds her up to us, grinning. Monica's fingers grip onto my arm and I hear her whisper, "Oh, my God."

"Hey, Gorgeous," I say softly, the baby blinking at me in confusion. I don't blame her. I'd be confused, too.

Hell, I _am_ confused, but my heart feels like it's exploding with love. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before. There's so much of it in ever part of me that I think I'm going to fall over.

Our babies are here. They're absolutely perfect, and for the first time in my life I feel complete. _This_ is what I've been searching for. _This_ is what I'm supposed to be.

The doctor says something to us, but it's not until I feel Monica's hand on mine that he's asking if we want to cut this cord, too. I feel the strange, spongy sensation of cutting the umbilical cord again and my little girl is suddenly being whisked away. The nurse puts her near her brother, wiping her down, weighing her, and I look back to Erica. She's panting with exertion, her face sweaty and tired, and I fill with a sense of wonder. I can't believe she did this for us. She's giving us her children. She put her body through hell so that Monica and I could have a family. I can't even process how huge this is.

I reach out suddenly and grab her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "Thank you," I tell her softly. The words aren't enough, but they're the best I can do.

She smiles at us as Monica's arm slides around my waist, her body drooped against mine as the weight of the moment hits. "You're welcome," she finally answers, her voice a little raspy and tired from yelling out in pain.

The nurse clears her throat, smiling when we finally turn to her. "We need to finish up with Erica. If you wouldn't mind giving us a few minutes…"

We both nod dumbly, pretty much willing to go wherever someone wants to direct us as this point, and shuffle toward the door when Monica comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face the twins.

"But, what about—can't we…?"

I understand exactly what she's trying to say. We've waited this long to be parents and to hold our baby; neither of us want to wait a single moment longer. "Yeah," I say, watching the two babies squirm. "Can't we…?"

Without another word, the nurse picks up one of the babies—honestly, at this point I'm not sure which is which—and brings it over to us. "Here's your son," she says quietly, looking back and forth between the two of us. I nod my head toward Monica, whose eyes immediately fill with tears as she stares at the tiny baby being placed into her waiting arms.

"Ohhh, hi," she says, sniffling, her voice thick with emotion. She looks up at me, her grin nearly splitting her face in half. "Look. It's our son."

I reach out and stroke his tiny hand, nearly falling apart at the feel of his soft skin. "Hi, little guy," I whisper. "Nice to meet you."

"And here's your daughter."

I look up, almost surprised to find the nurse in front of us again, this time with her arms extended toward me. I reach out automatically and feel the baby being gently put into my arms. I cradle her head carefully, feeling every single worry and doubt fall away. I feel overwhelmed, but wonderfully so. The baby studies me with hazy eyes, her tiny hands waving around sloppily for a moment before she settles down. My eyes fill with tears as my own grin threatens to split my face in half.

"Oh, my God, Monica, she's perfect," I whisper, looking over to my wife. She looks back at me with such adoration and contentment—this is the moment she's been waiting for her entire life. She's a mommy. It doesn't matter how these two came to be our children; all that matters is that they are.

She leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to our daughter's hand, nuzzling her for just a moment. "Hi, beautiful. I'm your mommy."

I feel a hand on my back, ushering me and Monica out into the hallway and into a neighboring room. "Someone will be in soon to fill out the birth certificates," the nurse tells us. I nod in her direction, barely tearing my eyes away from my little girl. Suddenly, we're alone, just the four of us for the first time. The room is filled with the tiny noises the twins make, both of them surprisingly quiet considering what they've both just gone through.

"I can't believe it," Monica whispers. "We're parents."

"Yeah," I answer distractedly, my newborn daughter staring me down. I sit in one of the chairs in the room and lay her across my lap, unraveling the tiny blanket from her even tinier body. She's in a diaper and nothing else at the moment, and I carefully wrap an arm around her. With the other hand, I check out her feet, counting all the toes to make sure everything's where it ought to be. Her feet are so small, so soft. I look over at Monica to find she's doing the same thing with our son, checking him over in fascination. "This is unreal."

She grins at me for a moment before turning back to the baby. "I love them so much."

"I've never loved anything like this," I answer, watching our daughter's body curl up into the fetal position, something I'm sure she's used to after all those months she spent sharing a womb with her brother. Her face scrunches up and I immediately wrap the blanket around she teeny form, pulling her closer to my chest. She relaxes a moment later and I look back to my wife, grinning crookedly. "No offense."

"None taken," she answers. "I know what you mean." She covers up our son again, and the door creaks open, a nurse who flitted in and out during the delivery peeking her head into the room.

"Mind if I come in?" she asks with a grin, pushing into the room before either of us can answer. "Sorry to disturb you, but we wanted to see if these two had names yet." She sits down on the edge of the bed, clipboard at the ready. "We have their weight and length and time of birth already, but if you know what you want to call them…"

Monica and I look at each other, shrugging. This hasn't been an easy process, despite only really circling on a couple of names over the last few months. Of course, we thought we were only going to have one, but since we didn't know what the baby was going to be, we've had names ready for both. We took into account that the names weren't set in stone; after watching Rachel try to name Emma a couple of years ago, we knew that just because we'd decided on a name, that didn't mean it was going to stick once we met our child. Naming a person feels like a lot of pressure. This is what they're going to be called for the rest of their lives.

Monica lifts an eyebrow as she tilts her head, looking at me questioningly, and I give her a little nod, trusting her to name our son. "Jack," she finally says, and we both smile at him, at Jack. That's who he is. "Jack Hemmingway."

I let out a surprised chuckle, smiling at her in amazement. "Really? I thought you were just screwing with me."

"No, I like it," she says softly, running a finger gently down the tip of his nose. "I think it works for him."

"That's a good name," the nurse answers, smiling at us. "You sure?"

"Completely," Monica answers without hesitation.

"Okay," she says, scribbling down the information. "And your daughter?"

_Daughter_. I can't believe how excited I am at the idea of having a daughter. I'm already wrapped around her tiny fingers, and God help us all when she can actually speak. My little girl.

Monica smiles at me encouragingly and I sigh with happiness. "Erica Josephine." Josephine was the first name we decided on. We knew we couldn't justify actually using "Joseph" or "Josephine" as a first name without seriously offending everyone else we know, but we both also know that we might not have made it this far without Joey. He covered for us for months, keeping our secret even when we'd do something completely off the wall and embarrass the hell out of him. He officiated our wedding. He's always been good to us, and we both knew we wanted to acknowledge him and his part in our lives. Despite all of his demands that we name our kid after him, I don't think he'd ever really expect this.

"That's great, too," the nurse answers, jotting down the name. "And the last name?"

Monica crinkles her forehead, shooting the nurse a confused look. "Bing. Their last name is Bing."

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to hyphenate it." She fills out a couple more pieces of information before smiling at us once more. "We'll need you two to sign these before you leave. They're finishing up with Erica—well, the older Erica—next door, and someone will be in soon to let you know when you can go back in. Do you need anything?" I'm sure there's about a million things we need, not the least of which is a bigger stroller and an extra carrier, plus twice as many diapers, but we both shake our heads, focusing on the twins. "All right," she says softly, hopping off the bed. "If you think of anything, just hit the call button or flag one of us down. And congratulations." She slips out of the room and I settle back against the chair, putting a finger in my daughter's tiny palm. Her own fingers grip at me, so strong, and a tear leaks out of my eye, dropping onto her tiny hat.

"Erica," I say softly. "Hi, Erica. I'm your daddy." I look over at Monica, who's holding up our son to me, grinning goofily. "Hi, Jack. I'm your daddy, too." I sigh, shaking my head in disbelief. "They're both so beautiful."

"Jack and Erica Bing," she answers softly, settling into the corner of the chair to watch our son in fascination. "I can't believe we got their names right."

"They're perfect names," I answer, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this is who they are. I'm Jack and Erica's dad. "Hey. You're Jack and Erica's mommy," I tell her, watching a couple of tears slip silently down her cheeks.

"Damn straight I am." She smiles down at Jack, looking even more content than just a few minutes ago. "I'm your mommy."

"I love the three of you so much I can't see straight," I say suddenly, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

"I know," Monica answers. "I know."

I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to my daughter—Erica's—forehead, taking a deep breath of her newborn smell. I look over to my wife and son, both looking quite comfortable with their lot in life. At some point, I'll get my hands on Jack and feel his delicate weight in my arms. I'll get to know him and fall even more in love with him than I already am. For now, we just sit, all of us staring at each other, studying our new life with fascination. We're a family—Chandler, Monica, Jack, Erica. We're in this together.

Forever.

* * *

*A/N…I just thought they needed a quiet moment between the birth and saying goodbye to the birth mother. Never gave it much thought before, but I love the idea of Chandler holding his daughter for the first time.

People keep asking about my other stories, Where Life Leads being one of them. I would love to write more of it, but every time I try, I can't. While realistically, I know this isn't a popular opinion (or maybe not even a common opinion), but all I can think about is being told that my writing is repetitive, and that they're over my stuff (or some of my stuff) (and yes, these are things I've heard from people), and I lock up. Again, I know that some of you really enjoy what I do, so I hate that you're missing out because of one or two people who, truthfully, weren't actually rude in telling me these things. But, my self-esteem being what it is, all I can think about is how obnoxious I must be to some people, and how I can't make anything fresh or interesting, so I just lock up. Mentally, I get a couple of sentences into something, then just stop. The bad stuff is easier to believe, but I don't know why. And please, this is not me asking for positive reviews—you guys do that in spades and you're awesome. You're crazy supportive and I love you for it, so again—no pressure to review this or anything else (except "You;" it only needs a couple of reviews to hit 700, but that's just me ;) ). I just wanted to let you guys know where I am with things, and why I'm not really producing a whole lot right now.

Also, I had a guest review recently (I can't remember which story) asking me to write about Chandler and Monica's fertility struggles and such. I don't know if you've found them yet, lovely anon, but I actually do have a few of those. The story is called "Crashing," and it might be what you're looking for. I hope you read this so you'll know about it. 3


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